
Bobby Funke: Where were you last night?
Him: That’s where I was last night. (He puts two fingers under Bobby’s nose.)
***
Her: I was out in the parking lot last night.
Bobby Funke: What were you doing at the parking lot?
Her: I was probably getting fingered by Dutch Middleton.
***
My question — what exactly has he fingered?
I mean, he says … that’s where I was … last night? And still foul fingers? Isn’t that a twelve-hour thing?
I don’t know, man. This whole thing looks (and smells) fishy.
Important note: Dig deeper.
(That’s a note to myself.)
| Forrest: | Hello, my name is Forrest, Forrest Gump! |
| Bus driver: | Nobody gives a hunk a shit who you are, fuzzball! You're not even a lowlife scum sucking maggot! Get your faggoty ass on the bus. You're in the Army now! |
| Duke: | [voice-over] How long could we maintain, I wondered. How long before one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family. Would he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so -- well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere. Because it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency, and they'll run us down like dogs... |
| Duke: | [out loud to himself] Jesus! Did I say that? |
| Duke: | [voice-over] Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me? |
| Jimmy: | I got enough cologne on? |
| Christopher: | You smell like Paco Rabanne crawled up your ass and died in there. |
| Brüno: | So you were never gay? It's ironic that you should have amazing blow job lips. |
| Man: | These lips were made to praise Jesus. |